


Fall

by Venstar



Series: Fall and Rise [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-15 03:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: A lock down, all doors in the stairwell are locked, preventing Q from getting out of his current deathtrap.





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaimistoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/gifts).



Running.

Running.

Running.

So much running.

Oh God. Q swiped his hand across his brow, lifting his fringe out of his face, his glasses are smeared with his fingerprints. He was in one of the stairwells of MI6 and there was no air! Why was there no god damned air! His ribs flared out as he gasped hard for breath. He pulled his mobile out and tried once again for signal. Nothing.

Where was Moneypenny? Where was M? Tanner? Bond? How many more would fall? Q closed his eyes and leaned against the wall behind him. The chill held within the concrete seeped into the back of his cardigan, causing him to shiver as his sweat cooled against him. When had this all gone wrong?

\------

“Q?”

“Hmmm?” Q murmured, his hands and eyes busy in his latest project. Something to make training new agents and minions alike much easier and-

“Q!”

-safer. “Yes? What? What?” Q asked with a LOT of irritation behind his voice. He blinked up through his pair of magnified lenses, the world a giant, distorted blur. 

“My, what big eyes you have.”

“The better to see you with. Well, don’t you have a big head?” Q asked, still observing his distorted world.

007 smiled down at him. “An observation or a complaint?”

“I’m afraid it would destroy your reputation,” Q said, as he pushed his lenses up to reveal a normal sized Bond standing in front of him. “If I were to reveal that the fact is definitely different than the fantasy, your fanclub would riot.”

“I declare!” Bond said, as he pressed a hand to his chest. A quick twist of his lips and a sparkle in his eyes defied his fake offense.

Q shook his head as he stood. “Ugh!” he groaned out loud as his knees made horrible popping noises, and then his back let out more snapping and cracking. He straightened all the way out into a lengthy, lingering stretch. 

“Careful, tin man, or you’ll need oil soon. How long have you sat there like that?”

Q sniffed his shirt and checked the tea stains on his cuffs. “Hmmm, about 6 hours, give or take. Before that I was helping extract 004 after he got caught with his target’s boyfriend in a very scandalous position.” He shifted his weight back and forth as he began to disconnect the cables and battery packs from his latest training tool. 

“I thought Carlitos was straight?” Bond asked, his eyebrows forming their own line of questioning.

“So did his girlfriend.” Q smiled as he replied to Bond, all shark’s teeth. He disconnected and gathered the cables from his latest project before neatly wrapping them around his hands, tying them off with zip-ties.

“Ouch.”

“Exactly, which did nothing for 004 as his target attempted to take out both of them, with their pants still down around their knees.” Q dropped the bundle of cables into a black, heavily padded case. The battery packs, nice, shiny and new were the next things to be tucked into the case. Q smoothed velcro straps over, to keep them in place.

“That must have been one hell of a scene.” 

Q glanced back as he heard Bond chuckling at 004’s predicament. “I trust you would never put yourself in that situation.” Q checked the rest of the contents of the case, his hand gliding over each hard surface. 

“Well, I wouldn’t get caught.”

“But you would…” Q rotated a hand in a circle, not finishing his question.

“I would do anything to get the job done, Q.”

“Hmm, yes, well at least I didn’t have to extract you, this time.”

“So, what have you been working on that’s taken up time that you should be resting?” Bond asked, peering curiously at the hard sided case Q had been packing and securing with painstaking care.

“A training tool, so to speak. It’s barely in prototype phase, but I need to test out a few bugs, before I truly be test it out.” Q shut the lid with a click and patted his newest baby. “Well, now you know my horrible secret. That I’m a perfectionist. There are times I like to test an item out before it officially goes to ‘prototype’ classification and then onto testing. I like to know I’ve put my best foot forward.”

“A prototype for a prototype.” Bond shook his head in mock teasing. “Well, now I’ve seen it all.”

“Turn around.” Q made a circling motion with his finger at Bond. 

“No need to be modest with me, I’ve seen it all.”

“Spies and their tricks, you don’t need to see me enter in the codes for this.”

“Will I be allowed to pick the lock if I’m a good boy?” Bond asked, but he turned around anyway, his ears primed and probably listening for the sounds Q will make when he presses the buttons.

“Maybe,” Q said. He glanced once over his shoulder, and when he was satisfied that Bond was turned away, pressed more keys than necessary, to throw Bond off. There were clicks and beeps, nothing simultaneous. He tucked the case away neatly into it an open spot in his shelves.

“May I turn around now?”

“No, I’m leaving actually, so walk forward until you exit my office. I’ll be right behind you.” 

Bond glanced once over his shoulder and saw Q shrugging into his coat and snagging his laptop bag. Q had tucked the case away amongst the other cases that lined the back of his office, that must have been the sliding sound Bond heard. Nothing on the outside of the cases or shelves giving away the identity of which case held what. Only the Quartermaster knew what was what in his office. He’d have to pull each case out to look for the correct label. 

A mystery.

\-------------

Two men, part of the group that had infiltrated MI6’s quarters, had flushed him out of his hiding spot and into the stairwell. They were now circling, hunting him. MI6 had issued a lock down procedure and all doors in the stairwell were locked, preventing Q from getting out of his current deathtrap. 

“Fuck.” Q pressed hand to his side. He was in relatively decent shape, what with his yoga classes and occasional runs, but he was in no shape whatsoever to have run up several floors. “Ow.” His thighs were burning. It wouldn’t take much to knock him over. “Please don’t cramp up, please don’t cramp up!” He continued to whisper to himself.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” A cheerful, voice called out from above him.

Q ducked down into the corner of the landing he was on. “Or what?” Q yelled into the dark abyss of the stairwell. “You’ll kill me? No thank you.”

“All we want to do is talk,” A second voice called out from below him, “you can spare a few minutes, can’t you.”

“Is that what you call assassination. Talk. Death by having to talk to you for longer than I absolutely have to!” Q replied. If he didn’t know better, he would say that he was trying for a stall tactic. He glanced down at his useless piece of crap mobile. A stall tactic for what? Help that may or may not come? He’d be dead by then. He closed his eyes.

“Come on, if you come peacefully, we’ll kill you...peacefully.” The man above him said.

“Oh well, that sounds like a wonderful choice. Let me think about that. When did all bad guys start talking like idiots. Really!” Q yelled forcefully into the stairwell.

Now to make a choice, up or down? Which guy would he have an easier a time of? Up, the guy would have the literal upper hand. Q would die from gunshot, a fall or from having to talk to them. Down and he would have the upper hand. Sort of. How much of an upper hand could one have without a gun?

“How much do you weigh?” Q asked. He waited quietly, hoping for a good answer.

“What kind of question is that?”

Q’s head jerked around. Upstairs guy had answered and had moved down a few floors.

“More than you.”

“Shit.” Q backed further into his corner. Downstairs guy had also answered closer than he last was. He hadn’t heard them move. 

Q jumped as something made noise in the stairwell. Metal on metal.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” The upstairs guy sang out.

“Here kitty, kitty.” The downstairs guy made kissing noises and snaps with his fingers as he called out.

The downstairs guy thought he was really funny. Q sneered into the darkness. Shit. He turned to the locked stairwell door and began to hammer at the keypad with his mobile. OH PLEASE HURRY! CRACK OPEN ALREADY! Most things in MI6 weren’t accessible to anyone but him. If he could just get the door open! 

“Ah, ah, ah!”

A huge breath of air left Q’s panicked lungs as he froze with a man behind him. 

“It’s time to talk.”

Q turned to his now captor...s...make that captors. Both upstairs and downstairs men were grinning at him, their guns pointed at his chest. 

“So, let’s talk” Q whispered.

Upstairs guy grinned. “Let’s.”

Bang!

Bang!

Q saw and heard his death, his useless mobile fell from useless, aching hands.


End file.
